


Chasing the Moonlight

by WillowEdmond



Series: Cinnamon Girl [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowEdmond/pseuds/WillowEdmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's the craziest thing you ever did for love," Roman asked.  </p><p>"I shot her dog," Dean said. Silence fell over the car for several minutes and Dean found himself wishing he could take back what he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The usual. The characters Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, and Seth Rollins do not belong to me and I have no legal rights to them. They are the property of the WWE And/or the actors/sports entertainers who play them. This story is intended as tribute only and no money was paid to me to write it, nor has anyone paid to read it.

"What do you suppose is taking him so long?" Seth asked, for probably the eleventh time in the last three minutes.

"It's a week before Christmas, and he's in a toy store," Dean said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I can't think of _anything_ that might slow him down."

They were in the latest of a string of rental cars, headed to the next town, the next gig, or they would have been, but as they were pulling out of the parking lot of the motel, Roman had gotten a phone call from his fiance. This was not usual, they spoke every day and quite a few times it was while they were driving. But this time she had a request to make.

"We have to stop at the Toys R Us on Grove Street," he informed him when he ended the call. "It's not that far out of the way."

"Why?" Seth asked. Seth was driving the first leg of the journey, and even though he questioned what was happening, he was programing the GPS to find the store.

"Because they actually have a Doc McStuffins Get Better Check-Up Center," Roman explained, managing only to look slightly sheepish. "And they were actually willing to put it aside so I could pick it up."

"A what?" Seth asked, staring at his teammate as if he'd managed to grow another head.

"A Doc McStuffins Get Better Check-Up Center," Roman repeated. "It's a toy, no, not just a toy, it's the number one toy on Leah's Christmas list. It's the only thing she really wants. And this Toys R Us has one."

"Couldn't she find one at the local Toys R Us?" Dean asked. "Or have them ship it to her?"

"Dean, I don't think you understand, this is _the_ toy this year. This is the Cabbage Patch, Tickle Me Elmo, and Nintendo 64 of the '10s," Roman explained. " _Every_ kid wants one. Jessica has been trying to find it, and she hit the jack pot. The store here got four in. _Four._ It's a miracle they got _any_ in this close to Christmas, never mind that they are actually going to sell one to us."

"Yeah, interesting," Seth said, as he finished programing the GPS. "If it's that hot, why are they selling it to you? They probably have a waiting list of hundreds who'd buy it."

"Uh, well," Roman began, then looked down at his feet.

"Let me guess," Seth interrupted. "The manager-"

"-Or assistant manager," Dean joined in.

"-Is, or knows someone-"

"-Who's a huge wresting fan-"

"-So your fiance agreed-"

"-That you'd give them a T-shirt-"

"-Maybe some action figures-"

"-Some 8 x10 color glossies, -"

"-Signed by all three of us," Seth finished.

"Uh," Roman said again, "Just one T-shirt signed by all of us," He admitted. "And I have to sign a couple of action figures that they'll be providing. But you can wait in the car, Jessica told them I was traveling alone."

While Roman had assured them once they got to Toys R Us that he would be "In and Out" that was proving not to be the case as Seth and Dean waited in the parking lot, getting more and more bored by the second. "Start up the car," Dean griped, "I'm getting cold."

"It's not that cold," Seth muttered as he started up the car, then added, "If he's not out of there in five minutes, I'm going in,"

"I wouldn't," Dean advised, leaning forward and stretching out his hands to the heater vents to warm them up. "He's probably being mobbed by every woman in the place. 'Look, Maggie, it's _Ro_ man Reigns!'" His voice fell into it's usual higher pitched, semi-sarcastic mode it always did when he pretended to be one of the many women who were always hitting Roman. "Ooh, _Ro_ man," he continued, "'you're so _tall_ and so _manly!_ I'd be happy if you'd _reign_ over me."

"Stop it," Seth said.

Seth was laughing as he said it, which meant, to Dean, that Seth's protest was merely a token to show that he would not sit by idol and allow his friend to be insulted. With that out of the way, Dean continued. "I'll bet even half the _fathers_ in there are sliding all over him, too." He changed into an overly done back woods accent that sounded as if it was straight out of a bad Deliverance parody. "Why it's Roman Reigns. Anyone ever tell yew, Mister Reigns, dat yew have such _purdy_ hair? All soft and shiny, like a leetle gurls."

"Dean, stop it!" Seth said, again his laughter not lending much credence to his words.

"An' dat mouth," Dean cheerfully continued in the same voice, "Thems are kissin' lips, Mister Reigns. Why, I'll bet yew put lard on 'em every night, keep 'em from chappin' up."

"Dean, stop!" Seth insisted, but still laughing. "If you don't stop, he's going to come out here and we'll have to explain why I'm laughing, and that will make it worse."

As if saying it out loud were the cue, they saw Roman heading over to them with a large box. "Oh great," Seth muttered. "I've got to get out and help him with the hatch and he's going to know I've been laughing and want to know why."

"That's the risk when you travel with me." Dean leaned back in the backseat, trying not to look smug. His day wasn't complete unless he could get at least one, preferably both of his teammates laughing.

Seth managed to get his laughter under control as he helped Roman get the large box into the trunk of the rental car. "Are you going to take that on the plane when you head home?" Seth asked.

"Nah," Roman shook his head. "At the next stop, I'll find a UPS or FedEx place and ship it home emergency overnight."

"You know," Dean commented as Seth drove out of the parking lot. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is one big Pain In The Ass, isn't it?"

Roman didn't answer at first, but instead fastened his seat belt to buy time to think about how to respond. "Uh, well, yes, but it's okay."

"Oh?" Dean shifted so he was in the center of the back seat, leaning forward. No matter how many times they told him he should, Dean refused to wear a seat belt when he was in the back seat. "I like to move around," he argued.

"Yeah, it's a pain," Roman admitted. "Getting it was a pain, finding the UPS place will be a pain, but it's a pain that's worth it. Leah has been asking for this for weeks. She even told me that it's the _only_ toy she wanted, that if it was the only toy she got, that was okay. And Jessica's been knocking herself out trying to find one online. She even tried to buy one on eBay, but the bidding got up to five hundred bucks and then someone sniped her. But that's how desperate she was. So, by doing this, not only will I make Leah the happiest kid on the world on Christmas morning, but I'll make my lady pretty happy, too. And when she's happy..." he paused, letting a smug grin spread over his face. "I'm happy."

"So," Dean said, "You're doing this to make Leah happy, and to get laid, right?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," Roman said, scowling. "It's not just about that. I mean, if she wants to show her gratitude in a...physical way, I won't refuse." He hesitated again, the scowl leaving his face and his voice getting softer. "I like making her happy. I mean, Leah's my daughter, of course I want to make her happy, but I like making Jessica happy, too. Even if all I get is a smile, when she's happy, I'm happy."

"Aw," Dean said, putting his hand on Roman's shoulder. "That is so touching. It's nice to know my brother is a total sap."

"Bite me, Ambrose," Roman suggested, turning in the seat and raising his fist as if he was going to punch Dean.

"Children, stop it!" Seth called out, in a mocking parental voice. "Don't make me turn this car around."

"He started it!" Roman objected, a mock childish tone coming to his voice.

"You have to forgive Dean," Seth said, still playing parent. "He's never had a serious girlfriend, he doesn't know the crazy things people do when they're in love."

"Tell me about it," Roman agreed, going back to his normal voice.

Dean scowled and leaned back in his seat. Roman and Seth were his brothers by choice and while he was pretty sure there was nothing the three of them wouldn't do for each other, he sometimes got annoyed when they assumed things about him, things that weren't necessarily true. Sure, he didn't talk about ex-girlfriends, but that didn't mean he didn't have any. Yeah, okay, a lot of his experience came from one night stands, there were always girls that got off on sleeping with wrestlers. When he was in his hard core days, he practically had to beat them off with sticks. Apparently, there was something about a guy that played with chain saws, forks, and reciprocal saws that got certain girls all excited. But that didn't mean he'd never had any serious relationships.

"So," Roman said to Seth. "What's the craziest thing you've ever done for a girl?"

"Oh god, I could write a book," Seth groaned, as he took the entrance ramp to the highway. "I let this girl in High School copy off my algebra test. We weren't dating, but I sure wanted to go out with her. I thought if I let her cheat off me, she'd look at me as more than a friend."

"Did it work?" Roman asked.

"No," Seth sadly admitted. "It might have helped if I was better at algebra. We both failed the test."

Roman laughed. "Okay, that was just stupid. I'm talking about crazy. Something that you never would have done for anyone else, not even your sister or your mother, but because you loved them, you did it. Even if it was the last thing in the world you wanted to do, you did it because it was something they wanted or needed you to do."

Dean slumped further in the back seat, still scowling, but let Roman and Seth talk. He didn't want to admit it, but he was curious to see what Seth would say.

"Uh, let me think," Seth pondered, as he studied the oncoming traffic, and eased onto the highway. "Oh, I got it. I went out for tampons."

"Yeah, that's never fun," Roman said. "Especially if that's the only thing you're getting. If you've got a list of stuff it can be easier."

"Oh, that was all she wanted," Seth said. "And she was in a pretty nasty mood. This was the girl I dated a few years ago. Honestly, she was one of the nicest girls I ever dated, but every 28 days, she became the poster woman for PMS. It was like Doctor Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. So, she send me to the store. And I grab all this other stuff, like deodorant, cough medicine, aspirin, a couple magazines, a quart of motor oil, a car air freshener, all this crap you know? Figuring that I'd have the whole belt at the register filled with stuff, the clerk would be too busy ringing it up to care, and I'd get out and home."

"Should have bought chocolate, too," Dean muttered.

"I _did!_ " Seth said. "I grabbed two Symphony bars, because sometimes chocolate was the only thing that would sedate her. Anyway, so I have all this stuff on the belt and the cashier, who was this young guy, he's ringing it all up, everything is going well until he gets to the tampons. I picked the _one_ box that the bar code is messed up. I guess it got wet and the ink ran. So he's trying to scan it and he can't. Then he tries to read the numbers off of it and he can't because they're blurry. A line is forming behind me and this guy is holding up the biggest box of tampons they sell, twisting it all around, studying it. I tell him how much the box cost, but that isn't good enough, he needs the numbers or else he can't ring it in. I'm about to tell him, 'look, just void the sale and I'll go grab another box and get in line again,' even though I'm mortified. But the guy grabs the intercom and yells into it, 'I need a price check. Kotex Extra Heavy duty Tampons, 120 Count box!'"

Dean had stopped slouching and was leaning forward again to listen. Roman was trying to look serious, but failing miserably. Anyone looking at him would have seen he was ready to laugh. "Wow," he finally managed to say, "That must have been... awful."

"Oh, that's not the worst," Seth continued. "It was a smaller store, and it was late at night, so the only people on were the cashier and another guy. The other guy was this old, half deaf man who got on the intercom somewhere in the back and said, 'Can you repeat that?' and the kid yells, 'I need a price check on the Kotex Heavy Duty Tampons!' By this point, everyone in the line was either pissed off at me because they just wanted to buy their crap and get out, or they were giggling. There were two teenage girls right behind me who thought this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen in their lives. And a few seconds goes by and then the old guy in the back goes, 'I didn't catch that. One more time?' By now the cashier was getting annoyed so he grabs the intercom and _screams_ into it, ' _I NEED A PRICE CHECK ON THE KOTEX EXTRA HEAVY DUTY TAMPONS_ _120_ _COUNT BOX!'"_

Roman burst out laughing. "Then what happened?"

"The old guy finally comes up, because he still didn't hear the kid correctly," Seth continued. "He looks at the box and meanders off to find another box. I offered about six times to go get it, but the kid just isn't listening. So, old dude shuffles off. About ten million years later, over the intercom we hear, 'Is that the 120 count box or the 96 count box?'"

"At least he just asked for counts," Dean said. "That was better than before."

"It would have been," Seth said, "But the kid was getting frustrated too, so he grabs the intercom and goes, ' _120_ _COUNT!_ _120!_ _FOR THE LAST TIME, THIS GUY_ _NEEDS THE_ _120_ _COUNT OF KOTEX, EXTRA HEAVY DUTY TAMPONS!'_ At this point, the two teenage girls can't hold back so they start just looking at me and laughing, unable to stop themselves. If I hadn't been worried about going home without the stupid things I would have walked out of that place. As it was, when we finally did get it straight and I paid for them, I went home and I've never stepped foot in that store again. Even though it was about a block away from where I lived."

"Okay, that was pretty bad," Roman admitted. "I don't know if I can top that one. I mean, I've gone out and bought stuff like that for Jessica when I've had to, but I've never had to have a price check." He chuckled again, then turned his head to look into the back seat. "Okay, Dean, your turn."

"According to you guys, I never had a serious girlfriend," Dean muttered, still stinging from Seth's earlier remark. "So I don't know what it's like to do crazy things like that."

"I was just teasing!" Seth protested, as he shifted into the high speed lane to pass a group of cars that were puttering along below the speed limit. "And, face it, Dean, you don't talk about anyone in your past that you were seriously involved with."

"Maybe I'm just not the type that likes to dwell on the past," Dean said, still not ready to be pacified.

"Aw, don't be like that," Roman said. "He was just giving you grief. C'mon, Dean, I had to go and get the Doc McStuffins toy, Seth shared his adventures in buying feminine hygiene products, it's your turn. What's the craziest thing you ever did for love?"

"I shot her dog," Dean said, his voice almost a whisper.

Even though Dean's voice was barely audible, it was as if he had screamed it at the top of his lungs. Instantly, Roman and Seth were silent, trading glances at each other, not knowing how to react. Should they laugh? He was joking, right? He had to be joking.

"That's from an old promo you did," Seth said, finally breaking the silence. "You talked about how everyone was always blaming you and one of the things you mentioned was this girl who had this dog, a basset hound, right?'

"Boxer," Dean corrected.

"Yeah, a boxer," Seth agreed. "And the dog barked all the time and kept her up. She was a student and needed to study so you claimed you shot the dog so it wouldn't keep her awake." Seth looked at Roman, "It was pretty funny, in that dark way."

"I've seen the promo," Roman admitted. "It's one of those things you laugh at and then feel guilty for laughing. Because he pulls it off so perfectly. 'So I shot the dog, and suddenly I'm the bad guy!'" He laughed and then stopped abruptly. "But that's just a story, right Dean?"

"No." Dean's voice was still quiet. Any trace of humor was gone. "She was a real girl, I was really dating her and I really shot her dog. And I really did tell her I did it because the dog kept her awake at night and I knew she needed to study."

Again, Roman and Seth looked at each other, then away. Seth stared out the window, trying to focus on driving, but every few seconds, he glanced at Dean through the rear view mirror. Dean was staring out the left hand window, not saying anything.

"That's not funny," Roman finally said. "I'm not sure I believe you, but it's not funny. The promo might have been funny, but this isn't."

"It's not _supposed_ to be funny," Dean said. "You _said_ what's the craziest thing I've ever done and I told you. I shot her dog. I told her it was because the dog kept her awake at night and she needed to study. I think that's pretty crazy, don't you?"

"Yeah," Roman said. "And if it _is_ true, which I still doubt, it's a pretty sick thing to do. I know you're a little crazy. You're our lunatic fringe, but that's too much, even for you."

"I'm with Roman," Seth said. "That's just not cool. I hope you're just bullshitting us, because if you're not, then I'm pretty disgusted."

"I swear, I am not bullshitting you," Dean said, his voice flat. "I shot her dog."

Silence ruled the car for a good ten minutes, nobody knowing what to say. _I never should have said anything,_ Dean thought to himself, staring out the window at the passing cars. He had shared a lot of things with his Shield brothers, more than he had ever shared with any other human beings, but this was...different. Yes, he had done the promo where he told the whole world about it, but like Seth and Roman had, Dean knew most people just dismissed it as the usual, 'Dean talking crazy.' And there was a reason why he put it in that promo too. He had a feeling she would somehow find it and watch it, and he wanted to make sure she still knew he'd shot her dog. And that he'd do it again. That he was just that type of guy, the type of guy who would shoot your dog because it barked at night and he'd think he was doing you a favor when he did it.

"Well," Roman said, trying to keep his voice calm, even though it was pretty obvious he was feeling anything but, "If it _is_ true, then I'm not sure if I really know you."

"Suit yourself," Dean said.

Another long bout of silence, nobody knowing what to say. Although he didn't want to admit it, Dean knew he had pushed this too far. He had two choices, he could laugh and go, "Wow, I can't believe you fell for that!" That would be the easy solution. Seth and Roman would laugh and pretend to be annoyed that he had got them, but they would also be relieved, because their world would right itself. Everything would be the way it was before he'd told them. It would just be typical Dean, seeing how far he could take things. Crazy, funny, Dean.

The other solution was to tell them the truth. The truth that nobody but he knew. Was he ready for that? Could he tell them? And when he was done, what would they think of him then? _Sometimes, you have to take the risk,_ he thought to himself. _Either they'll understand or they won't. And if they don't, you'll deal. The world won't come to an end._ He opened up the cooler that always traveled with them and pulled out three bottles of water. He leaned forward and put two in the cup holders on the end of the main console. The third he opened, and took a long swallow.

"Do you want to know the story?" he finally said, keeping his voice even. "I mean, I don't care what you both think, but, eh, we've got nothing else to do."

Seth and Roman looked at each other. Finally, Roman nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice even. "We'd like to know the story."

_This is it,_ Dean thought, taking another sip of water. _You've committed yourself now._ "It was a really long time ago," he began, "And there was this girl I dated..."


	2. Chapter 2

She was embarrassed when she told him her name. "Cinnamon," she said, her cheeks turning a warm, pink color. "I was supposed to be Charlene, but when I was born with red hair, my parents, who were huge Neil Young fans, said that they _had_ to call me Cinnamon. It's silly, I know."

He wanted to tell her that no, it wasn't silly, but he was too tongue tied around her at that point. He knew the song she had been named after, thanks to a guy his mother had dated who loved that old hippie music. And it fit her perfectly; Long, red gold hair, straight and so shiny it looked as if it were kissed by the sun. Also, green eyes, a small splash of freckles across her tiny nose. Except for those few freckles, her skin was a perfect pink and peach color without a blemish on it. He couldn't look at her without hearing the song in his head.

He met her when he was wrestling in one of the small, independent companies, about as far down as you could go to still be considered a professional wrestler, but it was okay, because he knew you started at the bottom to work your way up and he was young enough that he was going places. He was a week end warrior, doing day work during the week to keep him going until the weekends, when he could get to the shows. He knew a lot of people thought he was crazy and he sure did some crazy stuff, but he loved it. It was as if he could only come fully alive while he was in the ring. Monday through Friday? That was this half life, something he just tried to get through. He knew some of the other wrestlers felt that way, but he didn't know anyone else outside of the business who truly understood.

Cinnamon _loved_ wrestling. None of this WWE crap, she thought that was too slick, too polished, too _boring._ She liked the independents best. Even though she was a sweet, gentle girl, she loved the gritty reality of hard core wrestling. She wasn't stupid, she knew it was scripted, but she also knew wrestlers really got hurt. That you could script and choreograph all day, but the old adage "Man Plans, God Laughs," was never truer than in the squared circle.

She was so different from the girls that usually came to the shows. One might be tempted to call it innocence, but it wasn't. There was just something sweet about her, something wholesome that made you think she'd wandered into the gym where the match was taking place by accident, thinking this was where she thought her church choir was going to practice. Even when she was on her feet, cheering for her favorite wrestlers, you still got the feeling she didn't fully understand that wrestling could be a mean pastime, that she was watching something else. Something very similar, but not exactly what everyone else was watching. "It's art," she told him once when he asked her why she loved it.

"Art?" He snorted. "Are you going to be one of those snotty people who calls it ballet for the ignorant?"

"No!" She shook her head to add weight to the words. "It's a physical art. Wrestlers, especially the hard core guys like you, it's like you make something... you push your bodies as far as they will go and pray for the best, but while the audience is watching it, it's pretty amazing. It's not a dance, dancing is usually predictable. If you want to call what they do on RAW, ballet for the ignorant, that's fine, because that _is_ predictable for the most part. But with people like you, it's constantly changing, it's evolving. It's like art and dance meet the best action movie in the world. And everyone in the audience wishes they could do it too. That they had that much control over their bodies to do those things, but they aren't able to make the commitment that you guys are. So, we watch you, and we wish we could be like you, we wish we had that dedication, that _love_ of something that's so strong that we'll gladly risk our health and our lives to do it."

She made professional wrestling sound noble. Not many people did, even the biggest fans.

He had seen her at a few shows before he met her. He had noticed her, because it was hard _not_ to notice her. She usually wore skirts, blue denim or some solid color fabric, with old fashioned, pointed toe, white Keds sneakers, no nylons, and these blouses made of gauze like material that somehow managed to make her look both elegant and down to earth at the same time. He had wondered about her, wanting to meet her, hoping that maybe she was friends with one of the other wrestler's girlfriends and that would lead to an introduction, but she came alone, apparently friends with no one in the business. There were times when he swore she was looking at him, more than she looked at the other guys, but he told himself he was crazy. Why would she notice him? There was nothing special about him, he didn't even have the perfectly muscular build some of the wrestlers had, at that point he was a little on the skinny side compared to most wrestlers. His hair was unruly, because haircuts cost money and it was a lot easier to just let it grow. He thought he looked like one of those punk kids that was always causing trouble, which wasn't too far from the truth. She probably preferred the pretty boys, the ones that looked great in the ring and great in a suit.

Then, one day he was heading in the back after a rather long, nasty match, one where he had lost, and instead of being in the bleachers, she was standing by the door that lead into the locker room. He paused for a moment, confused as to why she'd be standing there. "Are you lost?"

"No!" she said, quickly, her face turning pink. "I-I" she stammered, then stopped.

He stared at her, wondering what game she was playing, wondering if she was going to tell him he really sucked in that last match, because sometimes people did that, even when they knew that it was scripted. "If you've got something to say, say it," he suggested, scowling slightly.

"I-I" she stammered again, then shook her head. "Oh, screw it," she muttered and before he could react, she moved closer, cupped his face in her hands and then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

At first he was taken totally off guard. He had been jabbed with a fork during the match, (ironically, it was his own fork he'd been stabbed with) and there was blood on his face and now blood on her hands, possibly even her lips. Why in the _world_ would she want to kiss him? He hadn't even won the match, and he was a mess.

Then, something seemed to take him over, the same way it had taken her over. She wanted to play games? Well, he was known as Jon Moxley back then, and no one took Moxley off guard. So, he grabbed her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her back, full on the mouth. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft. At first she was stiff in his arms, then she relaxed and for a moment, he believed she was kissing him back.

When they drew away, he thought she'd freak, push him away and run off, possibly shrieking that he was a crazy man. She didn't though, she smiled and blushed again. He'd gotten some blood all over her gauzy blouse. "You're," she stammered, "You're m-my favorite."

"Wrestler or kisser?" he quipped.

"Both."

"Meet me after the show," he found himself saying. "I'll show you more."

"Wrestling or kissing?" she asked.

"Both."

She met him when the show was done. They ended up going to the McDonalds across the street and talking for hours. She told him how her parents had named her Cinnamon. She told them how they had both been killed in a car accident a couple of years ago, and how she still missed them. She was in college and working part time trying to make a life for herself. College was very important to her, she was there on a scholarship and if she didn't keep her grades up, she'd lose it.

"It's the most important thing to me," she said, "Well, except for Rocky."

"Rocky?" He frowned, expecting to suddenly hear about a boyfriend she had failed to mention earlier.

"My dog," she said, grinning. "Rocky is only family I have anymore. I got him from the pound a couple years ago. He was a rescue from a puppy mill and he was a mess when I got him. He's still an emotional mess, but I don't care, he's my baby."

"What do you mean by a mess?" he asked, praying that she wouldn't say that he was vicious with strangers. He was hoping to see more of this girl and having an over protective dog that would be constantly trying to bite him didn't seem like a great way to get a romance off the ground.

"He's insecure and constantly afraid," she admitted. "He barks all the time. I let him sleep on my bed, but at least ten times a night, he wakes up and barks for no obvious reason. I've tried everything, but nothing helps. I'm just glad I rent a place outside of the city, in the middle of nowhere, where there aren't any neighbors to complain."

"Couldn't you have his vocal chords snipped or something?" He asked, remembering he had heard somewhere that this was sometimes done on barking dogs.

"I _could_ ," she said, he voice taking on a chilly tone he hadn't heard yet. "But how would _you_ like it if you were scared and you couldn't help it, so someone cut your vocal chords because they got tired of the screams you made when you panicked? Think that would help?"

_Okay,_ he thought. _Do not suggest anything having to do with the dog. If she wants to dress Rocky in baby clothes and sing him a lullaby, just let it happen. Obviously, the dog is everything to her._ "Sorry, I really don't know much about dogs. I just heard that was something you can do with noisy dogs."

"Sure you _can_ do it," she said, her voice softening slightly, but still holding on to some of that chill. "But it's mean and cruel. I could never do that to Rocky. It's not his fault he barks. He had a horrible beginning and I can't fault him for that."

He wondered at times if that's why she had fallen for him, because he was the human equivalent to Rocky. She had rescued Rocky because his past had damaged him and she wanted to make it right. Had she seen something inside of him, too? Some clue that his past had broken him and he had been forced to rebuild himself the best he could? Was that her goal in life, to rescue and heal broken souls?

They didn't sleep together that first night, but they did do more kissing, sitting in her little hatch back, seats pushed back as far as they could go, both of them in the passenger seat, exploring each others mouths and bodies, clothes on. He did get his hand under her shirt, and she did do some intense crotch rubbing outside his jeans, but that was as far as it went. She gave him a lift home, because he had ridden to the gig with another wrestler, and dropped him off. He didn't realize until she had driven away that he never got her phone number or an address, or even her last name. As he worked whatever mundane 9-5 job he was holding down that week, he hoped she'd be at the next show.

She wasn't at the next one, or the one after that. But she was at the one after that, sitting off by herself in the bleachers. Before he was scheduled to go on, he sneaked out the back and carefully made his way through the crowd. She never noticed until he was sitting down next to her. "Boo."

She jerked and looked at him. "Mox! are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

She would always call him Mox. A lot of folks did, it was on the back of his jacket in spray paint, so it wasn't a hard nickname to come up with, but there was something in the way she said it that made it seem like more than just monicker for his last name. When she said it, it sounded like a special name, meant only for him.

"What's up?" he asked her, ignoring her question about heart attacks. "I thought I'd see you before now. You usually come every week when we're local. Is everything all right?"

She looked down at her hands, twisting her high school class ring around her ring finger, stone on palm side, stone on back side, back and forth. "I wanted to," she said.

"But?" he prompted. Nobody said something like that without there being a but.

"But I was scared," she said, her voice softening. But he still heard it, even above the noise of another match going on. The gymnasium wasn't that crowded.

"Scared of what?" He asked.

"You."

"Oh." So, there it was. She had realized that he was crazy, that the personality he showed in the ring wasn't just an act, it was a real part of him, a part he could tap into, a part that sometimes took him over and ran the show. "Well, that's cool, I understand, I'm crazy and I can be a scary guy, I won't bother you-"

"-No!" she interrupted. "You don't understand. I'm not scared of you because you think you're crazy. I'm scared of you because I-" she swallowed hard, "-when we were in my car, kissing..." her voice trailed off.

"You realized I wasn't your favorite kisser?" he teased, trying his best to keep everything lighthearted.

"No," she shook her head. "I-I've never done anything like that before. I mean, I've made out with guys, I'm not that innocent, but usually we went out a few times, a few kisses at the door, movies, the whole dating thing before things got too physical. But with you, I eat a cheeseburger and a small fries and the next thing I know it, we're-we're..."

"Dry humping in your Hyundai?" he finished for her, which made her blush.

"Yeah," she said, turning away so he couldn't how red her face was, but he knew it was, he could almost feel the heat radiating off of it. "That's just not me. And that's not even the worst of it. The worst was that it took everything I had to stop it and take you back to your place. Because every part of me wanted...wanted..." Her voice trailed off again and she took a deep breath and blurted it out. "You. I wanted _you._ I wanted to drive back to my place and lock you in my bedroom and not let you go until-" Her voice cut off abruptly and he would have sworn he felt another wave of embarrassed heat rising from her.

"Go on," he encouraged. "This is getting _really_ interesting. I wish I had a tape recorder, I'd tape this and play it late at night, when I get lonely."

"Mox!" She turned to face him, and he saw her eyes were glistening, but she was smiling too. "I'm not _like_ that. This is not me. I mean, I barely met you, but I think I like you and I'd like to get to know you, if you want to get to know me, but I'm afraid that if we get too physical too fast, you'll just think I'm some, wrestling groupie." She looked down at her shoes, those pure white Keds with the pointed toes and the equally white shoelaces. "What's that expression guys use about girls that go all the way the first time they go out?"

"Hooray?" Dean suggested.

She laughed and pushed him lightly. "Don't be silly. You know the one, 'Can't make a housewife out of a 'ho?' or something like that?"

"Don't buy the cow when you get the milk for free?" he said.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't want to blow my chances that we could have something great because my stupid hormones are telling me unzip your fly...with my teeth."

A mental image of Cinnamon doing exactly that, entered his brain and he quickly pushed it away before things got out of control and she would see the physical evidence the suggestion had on him. Wrestling trunks weren't exactly subtle at hiding things. "Cin," he said, deciding to take a risk and reaching out for her hand. "We're _not_ typical. You're Cinnamon Girl, I'm Mox. We're _not_ Jennifer and Jason from Normalville. We're us. We don't have to follow stupid rules, because we're beyond them. If we want to have sex tomorrow, or the next day, tonight, or right now under the bleachers, that's _our_ business, not anyone else. I never believed in that whole 'we must wait for a respectable amount of time' crap anyway. If something feels right and neither of us feels like they're being pressured into something, then who cares what the rest of the world might think? I'm not asking to spend time with the rest of the world, but I'd like to spend some time with you."

She curled her fingers around his. "I like that," She said, her voice soft. "We're us. And I want to spend some time with you, too."

"Good. Let's go out after the show." He was surprised at his bluntness, but there was something about her that just made him feel it was okay to come on a little strong, that she wouldn't hold that against him, that she _wanted_ him to.

"Okay."

They didn't make it to the bedroom until the next week, but that was just fine. They went out after the show and talked again half the night and she dropped him off at the cheap boarding house where he rented a room. But the next week, she asked him if he wanted to spend the night at her place and he knew exactly where they would ending up.

She turned out to be playful in bed, not just eager to try new things, but eager to suggest them too. And while a lot of guys would have assumed that meant she had a lot of lovers in the past, Dean figured out the truth. She had mentioned one guy she had dated for a couple years back in High School, he was the first, and Dean would have bet money if he, Dean, wasn't the second, he was at most, the third. Numbers were no indication of experience, in fact, they worked the opposite. Dean had sex with a lot of women, but rarely more than a few times, which meant they never got past the beginning stages of feeling each other out. It was pretty clear with Cinnamon that she had someone in the past who she had done it with so many times that they had gone from the 'I need to become relaxed around you' phase to the 'let's work through the Kama Sutra' phase. So, he let her take the lead, willing to try everything she wanted, at least once and in many cases, twice.

The relationship didn't just work in bed, it worked outside of it, too. She already loved wrestling, which was great, because she was eager to drive him to just about any local gig. Seeing that his car was a piece of crap that defined the word "unreliable," this was really handy. She didn't care if she had to hang around waiting for him for hours because they had to film a promo, shake hands with fans, or talk about some other such stuff with the managers or promoters. She would bring along her text books and study while waiting for him. Some of his wrestling friends found her a little odd, this girl that looked as if she'd be more comfortable in the library, cheering him on at the top of her lungs, or quietly waiting for him in the corner of a smelly high school gymnasium, reading from a textbook almost as thick as the New York City Yellow Pages. But his true friends saw the truth. "She loves you," they said. "I mean, she really, _really_ , loves you."

And she did. He didn't know what he did to deserve it, but she adored him. When he spoke, she listened to him with such wide eyed intensity as if she was trying to absorb every word. to make it part of her. Even on those nights when the darkness inside him seemed to take over and he couldn't stop talking or pacing the floor, trying to push the bad thoughts away, she stayed with him. She never freaked out, never told her he frightened her, she listened. And when he had paced or talked himself down, she was there for him. She would hold him, comfort him, stroke his hair and assure him over and over again that she wasn't scared by his dark side, because she loved him, _all_ of him, dark side included.

They never made any formal declarations, but soon they started casually talking about what their children might look like. She was hoping they would look like Dean, he was hoping they would have her hair and eyes. Or they spoke about the future, casually assuming it would be the two of them. "Wow, look at that," he would say if a commercial for Disney world came on the TV, "Some day we'll have a family vacation there."

Or the commercial would be for some appliance, a refrigerator, and she'd say, "Some day, when we have our own house, we'll have one of those."

_I wanna live with a Cinnamon Girl_

_I could be happy, the rest of my life_

_With my Cinnamon Girl_

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

If there was one fly in this otherwise perfect ointment, it was Rocky. Dean wanted to like the dog, he really did. He didn't mind dogs, as long as they weren't those stray street dogs he had dealt with too many times in his days as a street waif. A lot of his friends owned dogs and Dean usually got along with those dogs just fine. But Rocky was another story all together. In fact, Dean was pretty sure he and Cinnamon would have been living together by the end of the first month they dated, if it wasn't for Rocky.

He tried with the dog, gave it his best effort, but Rocky was insecure and used to having Cinnamon all to himself and he did not want to share her with anyone, especially not another male. Sure, the dog was fixed, but he acted like Cinnamon was his property and was highly resentful whenever anyone else tried to get too close to her. Which made for some uncomfortable moments when they were trying to get intimate. At first they tried leaving the door to the bedroom open, so Rocky could come and go as he pleased, but Rocky would stand by the bed, watching them intently, every once in awhile howling. If that wasn't an erection killer, Dean didn't know what was.

So, they tried to put Rocky outside the room with the door shut, but that didn't work, Rocky would scratch at the door and bark the entire time. Or whimper pathetically, as if someone was torturing him. Not exactly a back drop for erotic pleasure.

The only solution was to put Rocky outside, where he still barked (because that damned dog barked All The Time) but if the windows were shut, the heavy blackout curtains drawn, and the radio on, they could drown it out enough. When they were done though, one of the first things Cinnamon did was rush outside and bring the dog back in. Which meant that if they wanted to go again, the dog had to be put outside again.

He brought the dog all varieties of chew toys, figuring if he could keep him busy for awhile, he would leave them alone. It didn't work. Rocky accepted every gift with an attitude of contempt as if he knew exactly what Dean was doing and was not going to fall for it.

Sometime they would go to his crappy room at the boarding house, just to have some peace, but when they were done, she'd have to leave, because she didn't want to leave Rocky alone for too long Most of the time he went with her, because he did love her, and after making love he _did_ want to spend the night with her. So, they would go back to her place, where they would be woken up several times a night, by Rocky's insecure barking.

It wasn't just sex that Rocky affected, it was other things too. If they were cuddling on the couch, Rocky would bark or howl, or climb up on the sofa and try to get between them. Cinnamon would try to get Rocky to lie on the other side of her, sitting in the middle of the sofa, but Rocky rarely allowed that. Rocky was used to Cinnamon being his property and he wasn't going to give her up to some dumb upstart wrestler who thought he had it over him because he was human.

Dean was convinced Rocky was stupid too, although he never told her that. If Cinnamon had one food weakness it was for fried chicken, preferably Kentucky Fried Chicken. Every time he brought over that familiar red and white bucket, she acted as if he'd flown to France and bought her truffles. She would squeal in delight, clapping her hands like a child. It was quite a rush for him at times, being able to bring her to almost the pinnacle of joy with a 9.99 bucket of Original recipe and a side of gritty mashed potatoes with that sludgy looking gravy.

And of course, Rocky adored fried chicken. He was as crazy about it as Cinnamon was, which meant that Cinnamon would give him bits of it as a special treat. That didn't bother Dean, but the dog was so dumb he would constantly try to get to the bones. If she left the room for a moment to use the bathroom and he stepped out in the back yard for a smoke, if one of them had forgotten to put the bones in a safe place like the microwave or the oven, the dog was all over them. The dog would eat just about anything, but he would actively hunt out chicken bones. _It's like if I suddenly developed a love for bleach and kept sneaking into the laundry room to sip it,_ he thought.

Cinnamon would only go to his matches that were close enough to make it home before 2:00 am, because of Rocky. She told him many times she would have loved to have gone with him on weekends out of state, but she couldn't leave the dog. Rocky needed her. When he tried to suggest friends who could watch the dog, she shook her head. "Rocky has had a tough life, he doesn't trust anyone but me. And you, now," she added.

"That dog trusts me about as far as he could throw me," Dean said, trying not to sound upset. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, silly!" she protested. They were sitting on the couch together, and for once, Rocky wasn't between them, but sitting on the recliner across from them, staring at both of them, but mostly at him. "He just isn't too sure about you, but he's getting there. Cut him some slack, he always slept on your side of the bed, and you took that away from him. He thinks of you as the interloper."

"Wonderful," Dean muttered. "I"m second place to the dog."

"No you're not," Cinnamon disagreed. "You're both equal. Some things Rocky gets special attention from me and some things you do."

"The dog gets way more attention than me," he grumbled, not ready to let it go.

"Really?" She shifted and put her head in his lap. "Tell me, Mox, do I do this for Rocky?" She undid the button at the top of his jeans.

"Rocky doesn't wear pants," he said, suddenly very alert, but not willing to let go of his petulance.

"Do I do this for Rocky?" She unzipped the zipper and started tugging it down slowly.

"Again, dog doesn't wear pants."

"How about this?" She reached in and freed him from from his jeans and boxers, "Do I do _this_ for Rocky?" Then she stopped talking, because she was the type of girl who didn't talk with her mouth full.

"Oh god, I hope not," He groaned, fighting the urge to grab her by the hair.

And the entire time, Rocky watched them, with a clearly disapproving look on his face. Childish as it was, at one point, Dean stuck out his tongue at the dog. Rocky gave him a look as if to say, _Sure, you're here now, but one day you'll be gone and it will be me and her once again. You are not the permanent guy in her life, I am._

* * *

A friend who he was venting to about Rocky did suggest that the dog was enough of a pain to make you wonder if Cinnamon was worth it, but Dean was quick to disagree. Eventually, the dog would have to get used to him, he had no choice and if he didn't, well, he was over five years old and had a horrible beginning with poor vet care. Surely, he wasn't going to live _forever_. Boxers were vulnerable to a variety of genetic disorders too, maybe luck would be on his side and the dog would have several of them. He knew it wasn't very charitable of him, but he also knew he'd have a hard time finding a tear to shed if Rocky just upped and died one day. He knew Cinnamon would be pretty upset, but she'd eventually get over it and he wouldn't have to worry that he was second place to a creature that licked his own ass for hours.

* * *

As final exams drew near, Cinnamon started losing her mind with worry. Suddenly she realized that she had spent more time with her boyfriend than she had hitting the books and she was terrified she would fail "They're one third of my grades, Mox!" she wailed. "If I fail them, I lose the scholarship, I lose the scholarship and I lose _everything_." They were sitting in a coffee house just off the campus where she attended school. He had met her there on his lunch break for whatever day job he had been working at the time.

He wanted to argue with her, to point out that she was so smart, she would breeze right through this and to stop worrying, but he knew that wouldn't help her. She wouldn't feel any better and he'd look like he was patronizing her. He made a great show of sipping his coffee, trying to buy time to think. _There is a right way and wrong way to handle this,_ ran through his mind. _I have to find the right way._ This was the first relationship that he really cared about, and he had the feeling this was a huge test some ass of a deity was putting in front of him to judge if he was worthy of Cinnamon and he was determined not to fail. _Should I offer to hire a tutor for her?_ he thought, even though he didn't have two dimes to rub together, he would find a way to pay for one. _Offer to watch Rocky so his damned barking didn't keep her up all night? No, she won't like it if I point out Rocky's flaws, she knows he's not perfect, but she doesn't want anyone else pointing that out to her. What do I do to fix this? **What?**_

No matter how hard and fast he thought, nothing would come to him. So, he finally put down his coffee cup and looked at her. "What can I do?" he simply asked. "Tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it."

What it turned out she needed was a lot of understanding. She needed him to step back and let her do her studying. Just until exams were over, he needed to understand that he couldn't call her, drop by, or anything that might distract her when she was studying.

"I'll call you," she said if you want me to. "Sometimes I'll need to hear your voice, because I'll miss you. But, Mox, I love you _so_ much that whenever you come around all I can think of is that I want to drop everything and _be_ with you. I can't have that right now."

"Okay," he said. "That's cool, I understand." He supposed he did understand too, but he didn't like it very much. Still, he tried his best to find a look that was somewhere between "No big deal" and "God, I'm going to miss you." Relationships could be hard work, he was just grateful he had a girl who was worth it.

"It's only until exams are finished," she said. "Then I'll have the summer off. I put out applications for a full time job on the campus for some extra money, but we'll have lots of time together. I just need to focus on studying right now and that's it. When I graduate, I want to be able to get a good job. A really good job that will pay well so you can focus on your dream of making it in wrestling. I don't want you having to worry about trying to keep terrible jobs where they try to make you work on weekends or any of that stuff, I want you to be able to focus and not to worry about how the bills are going to get paid."

So, he kept his word and never called her. He missed the physical part of their relationship, not just the sex, but the casual touching too, the cuddling on the sofa, or even brushing against her when they passed in doorways of her tiny place. But she did call him, at least once a day, telling him she needed to take a break and she needed to hear his voice for awhile.

"I miss you," she said one night. She usually called at night, before she would go to bed.

"I miss you too." He could hear Rocky in the background, barking his fool head off. "Is that dumb dog, okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed loudly. "He's just being... Rocky, you know? Between you and me, he's driving me straight up the wall. It's like he knows _I'm_ worried and it's making _him_ worried. He's waking me up all about every half hour. Last night, after the sixth time, I almost wanted to strangle him."

 _Wow, she_ _ **is**_ _stressed_ , he thought. _She never admits that the dog is a huge Pain In The Ass_ _. Maybe she's finally realizing the dog is more trouble than he's worth_ _?_ _Is there a chance in the Rocky/Mox war, that I'll win?_ Out loud he said, "Do you want to switch places for the night? You could come here and I could go there. I know my place is crap, but it's quiet. You could study and sleep and I'll be over at your place so I won't distract you and I can keep an eye on Rocky."

"Mox, you're wonderful," she said, her voice warm enough to thaw ice. "Just the fact that you made that offer means so much to me. But really, it's okay. I did take Rocky on a very long walk today, when I needed a break from studying. He's tired, I'm sure he'll sleep through the night."

 _I doubt it,_ he thought, _That damned dog will_ _rise from the dead just to_ _bark through his own funeral._ "Well, just know the offer is on the table."

"And I love you for it," she said. "Of course, I love you for a lot more things, but that's a big one."

"Oh yeah? What other things?" he asked, unable to resist.

"Don't!" she scolded, but laughed while she did it. "If I start telling you all the things I want to do, I'll end up getting in my car and driving over to your place."

It took everything he had not to tell her how much he missed her, to do and say anything in his power to encourage her to come over or to beg him to come over to her place. But he also knew that love sometimes meant having to do the thing neither of you wanted to do. "Okay, I'll be good and let you go," he said, then added something he didn't say often. "Love ya, my Cinnamon Girl."

"I love you too, Mox." She said it all the time, but he still loved to hear it.

* * *

Then came the frantic phone call one morning, the call that woke him up. He fumbled until he found his phone and answered it, his voice thick with sleep. "'lo?"

"Mox?" Cinnamon sounded panicked. "Mox, I'm in trouble! Help me!"

"What's wrong?" He was instantly awake, grabbing at whatever clothing he could find to get dressed as fast as possible. "Where are you? I'll be there right away."

"I'm at school!" she wailed. "And I don't need you to come there, I need you to go to my place."

"What's wrong?" he repeated, "Do you need something?"

"No!" She was sniffling and she sounded so tired and so stressed, he wished he could teleport to her side, just to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was going to be all right."I'm an _idiot!_ Rocky has been _really_ hard to handle lately, I think he's feeling my stress and he's reacting to it. Well, I have a _major_ exam today, so last night, I went to the library on campus to have some quiet to study. I ended up falling asleep there and I _just_ woke up!"

"Okay, do you need something for the test?" he asked. "A book or something?"

"No, I need you to check on Rocky." She sniffled again and he heard the tears in her voice. "My exam is in half an hour, I don't have the time to get there."

"I'll go," he agreed, but he was puzzled. _This_ was an emergency? The dog being left alone for a few hours? "How long is this exam?"

"It won't take me that long," she admitted. "But I have another one less than an hour after this one, and after that, I've got two job interviews, and who knows how long that will take. Please, Mox, Rocky is used to being fed in first thing in the morning. He's used to being able to go out and do his business. He always gets a walk in the mornings, too. I've _never_ ever left him alone for a whole night and I'm worried sick about him. _Please,_ you said you'd do anything to help me and right now, I need help with Rocky. I won't be able to concentrate on my exams if I'm worried about him!"

"I _said_ I'd go!" he protested, as he pulled on a pair of jeans that while not clean, at least didn't smell. "Don't worry, I'll take care of Rocky, you just worry about your exams and the interviews. I'm sure you'll ace all of them."

"Thank you," the relief in her voice was so thick you could almost taste it. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you,_ " she kept repeating and he could hear the tears in them, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "I owe you _big_ time."

"Don't worry about it," he said. But, part of him thought she was taking this love for the stupid dog a little far. One night and one day alone wasn't going to kill the dumb beast. "But if you want to make it up to me, I can think of _several_ ways, most involving you losing your clothes."

She laughed, and it was a pure laugh, no tears, no stress. He forgot how much he missed that free, easy, laugh of hers. "I need to grab some coffee, go over some notes and then get to that exam. I don't have time to play seduction via AT&T. I promise you that Friday when I get home, I will take off my clothes and I won't put a stitch on until I have to drive you to your match Saturday. Just take care of Rocky, okay?"

"Don't you worry," he assured her. "I'll take care of Rocky." He wanted to add, _Take care of him with a_ _very heavy_ _brick,_ but he didn't. If he didn't like Rocky before, Dean realized he truly _hated_ that stupid dog now. Not because he had to go and check on him, he didn't mind that, but because the damned dog was ruining _everything_. Rocky was stressing Cinnamon, _Rocky_ was the reason she couldn't make it to any of his far away matches. _Rocky_ was the reason why they weren't living together. Rocky, _Rocky,_ _ **Rocky**_ _._ The damned, no that wasn't strong enough, the _fucking_ dog was likely going to ruin the best thing in his life, because eventually that dog was going to lead to one of those, "It's me or him" moments, and while he adored Cinnamon, the dog had been there longer. The dog had been the first creature she reached out to after her parents had been killed. He was just the boyfriend who had only been around a few months.

But right now, the important thing was to keep his word. He promised Cinnamon he would do anything to help her out with exams and he was not going to let her down. He called his boss to tell him he was going to be late. His boss told him if he wasn't there by noon, he could just stay gone forever. Dean figured he had just enough time, if he hurried, to take care of Rocky and then get to his job, which was spreading tar on roofs, horrible, nasty work, but it paid better than any job he ever had and it gave him weekends for wrestling.

As he headed over to her place, his old piece of crap car wheezing and moaning, but thank god, _running_ today, he wondered if there was anything he could do about Rocky, before the dumb boxer ruined Cinnamon's _and_ his life, before the damned dog ended any chance of a life together for the two of them. He considered putting the useless beast in the back yard and leaving the gate open, maybe he would run off. Then he realized that the dog was stupid, but not _that_ stupid. He had it made with Cinnamon, he'd never run away from her. Did he know of anyone who would want a dog? Rocky was a good looking boxer and Dean did have friends who liked dogs. Maybe he could find another home for Rocky, and tell her Rocky ran off. No, that wouldn't work, Cinnamon would go crazy trying to find him, and whoever took the dog would likely go after Dean with a two-by-four once he realized what a pain in the ass the creature was.

When he got to her little trailer house, he half expected to hear Rocky barking his head off inside, but it was quiet. As he opened the door, he expected to be attacked, but the place was quiet. "Rocky?" he called out. "Rocky? C'mere you useless, stupid, piece of shit."

Nothing.

Dean groaned. There was only one time when Rocky was quiet, and that was after he had done something that he knew he shouldn't, like chew up a pair of Cinnamon's Keds, or scratched and chewed at the door into the bathroom until it was reduced to splinters, or pooped/pissed where he wasn't supposed to. And the dumb dog _never_ did his business on the vinyl kitchen floor, where it could easily be cleaned up, not Rocky. If it wasn't grass, Rocky wanted fine polyester to caress his ass while he took a dump, so he usually picked the bedroom because it had wall to wall carpet. And because Rocky had been left alone for so long, Dean was pretty sure he was going to find a huge school of spineless brownfish right near the side of the bed he usually used.

But the bedroom was empty and no fudge dragons were there to gross him out either, or chewed sneakers. He even looked under the bed to make sure Rocky wasn't hiding there. He started searching the rest of the house, not seeing any signs of damage or Rocky. Had Cinnamon gotten off the phone with him, changed her mind, and raced home to grab him, deciding she'd take him to the exam with her? It wouldn't have surprised him, she was _that_ weird about the damned dog, but he knew that if she'd gone that crazy, she would have let him know, at least left a note, but more likely a phone call.

The last room he went into was the kitchen. "C'mon Rocky, where the hell are you?" he called out as he walked into the room. "You dumb piece of-" His words cut off abruptly at the scene in the kitchen.

Rocky was on the floor, laying on his side, and the floor, no make that the entire, _kitchen_ was covered in blood, so much blood, so damned much of the viscous red liquid, on the floor, sprayed onto the walls, the cabinets, and the appliances that it looked like someone had decided to use the room as a slaughter house. Who knew a 68 pound animal had so much blood in him?

"Rocky!" He ran to the dog, kneeling down, getting blood on his clothes, but not caring. The dog was making horrible, gasping noises, blood tricking out of his mouth and nose. As Dean looked he saw something sticking out of the dog's throat, he thought for a moment the dog had broken his spine and part of it was protruding out of his neck, having ripped through the flesh, but then he knew and he felt his heart sink.

It was a chicken bone, a leg bone, splintered where the dog had crunched down on it biting off the smooth end and then swallowed it. Dean didn't know if it happened while the bone was going down the throat, or if it made it down, but then Rocky had tried to sick it up, but it had ripped through the dog's throat, which is probably how the blood got everywhere. The poor dog was probably trying at first to dislodge it by shaking his head, and instead of helping, all that did was rip the wound open further. Not thinking, Dean grabbed the end of the bone and pulled it out, but it was too late.

 _Nothing can live having lost this much blood_ , he both thought and just knew at the same time. He was amazed the dog was still alive as it was, but Rocky was barely hanging on. _Dumb thing was probably waiting for Cinnamon to get home, so he could die with the one person who loved him._ "I'm sorry, Rocky, but all you have is me," he said.

It was obvious what had happened. Cinnamon had picked up her favorite, fried chicken, probably after her exams or classes, whichever she had yesterday, come home, had dinner, no doubt sharing with Rocky. But in her exhaustion and worry and Rocky's stressful barking, she forgot to put the bones someplace safe from the dumb animal and when she returned to campus to study, Rocky had found them. _She will never forgive herself,_ he thought, as he stroked the dog's head, his mind racing. Rocky looked at him, his eyes starting to glaze over, the life ebbing out of them. But with what must have been almost supernatural strength, he thumped his tail once on the floor.

And hardly aware of it, tears were streaming down Dean's face, tears of anger that this stupid, _**stupid**_ , dog had to be so dumb, but also tears of sadness, because Cinnamon _loved_ this animal, and Dean loved Cinnamon, and it was one giant clusterfuck, Rocky barked so Rocky tired Cinnamon, so Cinnamon hadn't been thinking straight and left the bones out. Rocky kept barking so Cinnamon left him to go study, around and around the logic went. Dog stresses Cinnamon, Cinnamon makes mistake. And, he realized he was crying for the dog too. He would have given _anything_ right now, to have opened the door and found Rocky had crapped on every inch of the carpet and chewed up every pair of shoes in the place. But no, Rocky hadn't. Rocky would never shit on the carpet, or chew shoes again. Rocky was on his way to doggie heaven and even if a miracle happened and a vet suddenly materialized with a fully equipped examining room, he or she wouldn't be able to do a _damned_ bit of good.

He rose to his feet, unable to stand it anymore. "I'll be back, Rocky, I'll be right back," he babbled. He ran into Cinnamon's bedroom and opened her nightstand drawer where he knew she kept the handgun she had bought for protection because she lived out here in the middle of nowhere. With shaking hands, he loaded it from the ammo also in the drawer. Then he grabbed the bedspread off the bed, a quilt her mother had made for her, the last quilt she had made before the car accident that took her life. He knew that there would come a day when Cinnamon was grateful that Rocky was wrapped in something that represented such love.

He took the blanket out to the back yard and spread it on the grass, then he raced in the house, sliding in the blood in the kitchen, but he gathered Rocky in his arms, covering himself with blood and probably even fecal matter. He carried the dog outside and laid him on the blanket as gently as he could.

He didn't know if the dog was dead yet, he probably was. When he'd gone to get the gun, the dog was almost gone and when he carried him out, the Rocky's eyes were open, but he wasn't seeing anything, and the eyes had this film on them, but still Dean wasn't going to take chances and he _had_ to do this. He took the gun out of the waistband of his pants where he had tucked it, and put the muzzle up to Rocky's head. "I'm sorry, you dumb ass dog," he said, his voice almost sobbing. "Cinnamon loved you. Don't _ever_ forget that. Watch out for her from Dog Heaven, okay?" He pulled the trigger.

Rocky's skull almost disintegrated from the shot. His skull fragmented and bits of bone and brain matter scattered about, but it all stayed on the quilt. Dean carefully folded the blanket around the dog, then moved the bundle over to the base of an oak tree where Rocky had liked to sit and relax on those rare occasions when he was outside and not barking.

"I'll be back," he said. "I'll be back soon, just hang on, we'll get you to bed soon." He was babbling, he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "Just wait right here, Rocky." He turned and ran into the house.

He wasn't sure if he had formed a plan or if he was acting on instinct, but when he went into the house he started working like the crazy man he was, drawing on every reserve he had to do things carefully, but at a neck break pace. He cleaned the kitchen first, from top to bottom, getting rid of every speck of blood, every piece of evidence of what had happened. Just to make sure, he opened every cabinet and cupboard to make sure no blood had somehow managed to make its way inside. He gathered up any and all evidence of the chicken and put it in a garbage bag along with all the paper towel and all the rags he had used to get rid of the blood.

He took off his sneakers, which had blood on them, and threw them in another garbage bag. He had another pair of sneakers in his car. He had at least one change of clothing he had left here before. He cleaned up the house, the trail between the kitchen and her bedroom, where he had left bloody foot prints while getting the gun. He had cleaned blood from rugs before, thanks to his mother and her stupid druggie friends and he knew that magic elixir to get the stains out, hydrogen peroxide and fortunately, Cinnamon had a huge bottle of the stuff. When the carpet was clean, he washed the bloody hand prints off her nightstand, off the box of ammo he'd gotten the bullets from.

When the house was clean, he undressed and stuffed the jeans and T-shirt he was wearing into the garbage bag and then took a shower in her bathroom and changed into the clothing he had left here previously. When he was changing, he noticed the little clock she had stuck to the mirror read 1:30. He had lost his job; even worse, she might be home any minute. He had to hurry.

He took the trash bag with all the evidence in it, and the one with his bloody clothing and threw it into the trunk of his car. He grabbed the extra pair of sneakers and put them on as fast as he could.

It wasn't until he had found a shovel in the small shed on the property and was digging a hole in the back yard, under that oak tree where Rocky's body lay, wrapped in the brightly colored quilt, that he allowed himself to slow down, just a little. He was almost done, he was going to make it.

As he dug, he talked to Rocky, even though the dog was far beyond hearing and he wasn't exactly making the speech of a lifetime. He mostly kept telling Rocky he was an idiot, but that if there _was_ a dog heaven, he'd better watch out for Cinnamon.

"She watched out for you, you _stupid_ dog," he said, his voice hoarse with tears and rage and a lump of sorrow so big he half expected it to burst from his throat the same way the chicken bone has burst from Rocky's throat. "But you _had_ to be an idiot. She made _one_ mistake, one _fucking_ mistake, and you had to do it, you _had_ to eat those damned bones. You watch out for her. She needs it and you _owe_ her, you stupid piece of shit dog."

She came home shortly after he had finished digging the hole and had the dirt neatly piled off to the side. He heard her car pull in and took a deep breath, wiping off his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, wiping away the sweat, dirt, and tears, and composed himself. He didn't have much time and if he didn't do this right, everything would be ruined.

She knew he was there because of his car in the driveway and she ran through the house looking for the two of them, then came through the back door. She spotted him by the oak tree and her face broke into a grin that almost crumbled his resolve, almost. She ran over to him. "I got the job!" she exclaimed, almost dancing in excitement. "And it's the library job, the one I really wanted. And, I think I did really good on-" Her voice trailed off and she looked around, her brow furrowing in an expression of puzzlement "What's going on?" she asked. "Where's Rocky?"

He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to look calm. "I shot him," he said, as if shooting a girl's beloved dog was no big thing.

"What?" She shook her head, not believing him. Not _her_ Mox, _he_ would do this. "You're joking, right? And it's not very funny."

"No!" He shook his head. "I wouldn't joke about that. I shot him."

A million emotions played across her face until it settled on shock. "Stop it, Mox, this isn't funny at all. You didn't shoot Rocky, even you aren't _that_ crazy."

"Sure I did." He walked over to the bundle and casually flipped the quilt aside, showing Rocky's back end. He had been careful when he wrapped up the dog to make sure that when he showed her Rocky's body, she wouldn't see that the poor animal was pretty much decapitated. "I'd show you the head, but that's pretty much disintegrated," he said, trying to sound as casual as if he were placing an order at McDonalds.

"Oh God!" Her voice was something between a scream and a yell as she recognized her dog. "Oh My God, _**what have you done?"**_

"I told you," he said, letting an edge of annoyance creep into his voice, "I shot the dog! Gesh, are you _deaf?_ "

"How-how-how," she babbled. She was trembling now and her eyes were bright, but not with tears, with shock.

"I got your gun, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger," he said, trying to sound patronizing as if he were explaining something to a stubborn child who refused to stop putting that square peg into the round hole. With every word, he felt like part of him was dying, but he _had_ to do this. He promised her he would do anything for her, and he wouldn't back down, even from this. "Why aren't you getting this? What is _wrong_ with you?" he almost demanded.

"Wrong?" She stared at him. "Wrong with _me?_ You shot my dog and you're asking _**what's**_ _**wrong with me?"**_

"Yeah." He shook his head as if he was amazed at how weird she was acting. "I thought you'd be _grateful_. The damned dog was keeping you up all night, you've been scared to death you would lose that scholarship, and it all stems from the stupid dog. No more dog, no more problem. You can sleep and study in peace. You gave him a good life for these few years, but it was time for him to go! And if you miss Rocky, we can go and get another dog. There are lots of them in the world, this time we can pick one together that likes me too, and isn't such a pain in the ass. We'll call him Rocky Junior, if you want." He flashed a full-on grin to her, one of his crazy ones that he used in the ring or in promos, selling this as hard as he could.

" _What?"_ Her eyes were so wide she looked almost like one of those pictures of aliens you saw on the signs on the highways near Area 54, advertising the tourist traps. "You think we can just get another dog? What are you _sick?_ Are you _**insane?"**_

"What is the big deal?" he asked. "You had a problem, Rocky was ruining your life, so I got rid of the dog. No more problem. Jesus, you should be _grateful_." As he said the last part, he swallowed hard, feeling his gorge rising in his throat. He couldn't do this much longer, if he had to, he'd end up breaking down and telling her the truth and he couldn't do that. She could never, ever known the truth.

" **YOU KILLED MY DOG** **,** **YOU FUCKING JERK!** " she finally yelled at the top of her lungs. "YOU KILLED ROCKY! _**I LOVED MY DOG!**_ "

"I thought you loved _me,_ " He said, managing to draw up a look of childish petulance. He knew this was coming to a head, so he picked up the dog and walked over to the grave he had dug. "I _hated_ the stupid dog, you knew it. So, we should both be happy now."

" _Love you?_ " she screamed, " _ **LOVE YOU?**_ _You just killed my only family and you think I still_ _ **love**_ _you_ _?_ _"_ She shook her head in disbelief and started babbling. "My friends were right, they said you were crazy, they said you were a lose cannon and one day I'd be hurt, but I disagreed with them. I told them no, they were wrong, that they just didn't know you like I did, and if they did, they'd see how wonderful you are, but I was wrong. _ **I WAS WRONG!**_ " She shrieked the last part so loudly it hurt his ears.

"I don't think you were wrong," he said, still holding the bundle with Rocky's mortal remains. "C'mon, Cin, how many other guys would shoot your dog for you? None. Because other guys are pussies, but not me. I'm man enough to do what _has_ to be done. And admit it, deep down, you're _glad_ he's gone, right? I mean, you can't _say_ that, because you know, people would think you were crazy like me, but deep down, in you heart of hearts, admit it, the dog was one giant pain in the ass and you're glad he's gone. You can tell me, it'll be our little secret."

"Oh my god, oh my god, OHMYGOD!" she said, each repeat getting louder and louder than the next. "Get _**OUT**_ of here! Love you? I can't stand the sight of you! _GET_ _ **OUT**_ _OF HERE!_ _ **GET OUT AND NEVER COME BACK!"**_

That was his cue. He dropped Rocky into the grave he had dug, forcing himself not to wince as the body made a soft thud in the newly turned earth. "Fine," he said, hoping he sounded petulant. "You can finish burying your own damned dog." He headed to the gate, muttering softly, but hopefully loud enough for her to hear., "Crazy bitch, try to do her a favor and she gets all upset. Fuck her."

He could still hear her sobs coming from the back yard as he started up his car and drove off.

 _To Be Continued.._.


	4. Chapter 4

"Holy _shit!_ "

It was Seth's voice that pulled Dean back into reality, made him realize he was in the rental car with his Shield brothers, heading for the next gig. "What?" he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears, as if there was something caught in his throat.

"You didn't murder her dog!" Seth exclaimed. "You didn't even really _kill_ the dog, if you want to get technical. The _most_ you did, the most you _might_ have done, was put the poor thing out of his misery!"

"I never _said_ I murdered the dog, I never even _said_ I killed him," Dean reminded him. "All I said was that I shot the dog and I _did_ shoot the dog. Whether he was alive or dead when I shot him, doesn't matter, I shot her dog."

"But-but," Seth sputtered, "You _know_ when you say something like that, everyone is going to assume the worst!"

"Not my problem," Dean said, looking out the right hand window, pretending he was fascinated by the scenery passing them by. "You and Roman asked me what was the craziest thing I ever did for a girl and I told you. I shot her dog. Details or not, I think that's pretty crazy."

"But you never _told_ her!" Seth protested. He was sneaking looks into the rear view mirror every few seconds, trying to look at him. She thinks you straight up _murdered_ her dog because he was _annoying_ her."

"Yes," Dean agreed, finding the calm he needed from deep inside of him. "I _had_ to. I told you Cinnamon's parents died in a car accident, right?" he didn't wait for an answer, already knowing, but continued, "What I _didn't te_ ll you was that she was driving the car at the time. She and her parents had taken a road trip and she had her learner's permit. They thought this would be a good way for her to get some highway experience, so they were letting her drive."

"Oh," Roman said. "Was-was..." he let his voice trail off, not wanting to ask the question that was on his mind.

"-Was she at fault?" Dean supplied, knowing that was what he would ask. "No. She wasn't even questioned, too many witnesses saw the accident, so by the time she got out of the hospital, the case was closed. There was a semi on the other side of the highway and the brakes went out. It crashed through the guard rail, then flipped over. I guess this was on a pretty steep incline because the truck must have had some serious speed behind it. But the truck flipped, and crashed into their car. Somehow, she survived with nothing but a few broken bones and a concussion. But her folks didn't. They died. And even though it wasn't her fault, you tell me, guys, if _you_ were sixteen and only driving with a permit, wouldn't _you_ still feel guilty? Even if everyone told you over and over again that it wasn't your fault, that you were not to blame, wouldn't you _still_ feel there was something _you_ could have done?"

"Yeah," Seth admitted, glancing at him through the rear view mirror. "Maybe if I had been going slower, or faster, or maybe if I wasn't driving. I'm not experienced driving, maybe if someone else had, they would have known what to do. Yeah, that's exactly how I would feel, like deep down, it was my fault."

"And that's how Cinnamon felt. She didn't say it, because everyone always told her she wasn't at fault, blah blah blah, but I knew she felt responsible, just because she had been driving. How do you think she would have handled it to know that while it wasn't deliberate, she _did_ leave those chicken bones out where Rocky could find them?" Instead of waiting for either one of them to answer, he looked up, meeting Seth's eyes in the mirror. "So, anyone got anything crazier that they've done?"

"No!" Seth said quickly. "You win."

"Did you ever see her again?" Roman asked, his voice soft with that soothing quality that Dean liked.

"I wish I were a little kid, so you could tell me a bed time story," Dean said, wistfully, "With that voice of yours, I'd be asleep before the 'happily ever after' part. But, to answer your question, no, I never saw her again. I don't know what she did with her life after me. I do know she never came to any of my matches ever again. I don't know if I soured her on wrestling in general, but I sure soured her on the company I worked for."

"Christ, that is _rough_ ," Roman remarked, shaking his head. "It sounds like you really loved her."

"Nah, it was for the best," Dean said quickly. "It wouldn't have worked. She was one of those bright college girls, eventually she would have tired of my wrestling every weekend, my lack of education, all that type of stuff. I was her fling with the bad boy, eventually she probably grew up, graduated, met some professional guy who does the whole nine to five thing. It sucked that it ended that way, but I'm sure it wouldn't have lasted another six months." As he said it, he hoped Roman didn't hear the lies in his voice.

* * *

He did lose his job the day Rocky died, but another friend got him hooked up doing construction work, general grunt labor, but it paid even better than roofing and had almost unlimited overtime. After a few weeks of working every moment he could, he was able to get rid of his barely working car and replace it with a slightly better one.

Once he got another car, one that Cinnamon would never recognize as his, he found himself driving by her place quite often. He never slowed down, never stopped, just drove by. He didn't see her all the time, only when she was entering or leaving her place, but when he did, she had an air of sadness about her. Her hair didn't seem to shine as brightly, in fact there were times when it looked limp and greasy as if she hadn't washed it in days. She didn't walk with her usual happy, light steps, instead she plodded as if life had beaten her to the breaking point. Sometimes, instead of her usual gauzy blouses, she wore an oversize black T-shirt that might have been one of his. Her sneakers, which she usually kept so white they were almost dazzling looked dingy. _She's in mourning_ he thought.

Sometimes, as he was coming up on the house, he could see her in the back yard, sitting by Rocky's grave, arms wrapped around her knees, head down, looking so forlorn and heart broken that it made him ache inside. He wondered why he tortured himself, doing this all the time, but he couldn't make himself stop. He felt he still needed to _do_ something.

It was six months after Rocky died when he called a boxer rescue group and told them the story. Not the whole story, he left out a lot of the really gory parts and didn't tell them it was Cinnamon who had left out the chicken bones. He wasn't worried, he knew she would never do something like that again, even though she didn't know that it was her chicken bones that had ended Rocky's life. That was the type of girl she was, she didn't make the same mistakes twice. She'd probably never date another wrestler again, either. He gave the rescue her address and phone number and made them promise she would never know that he had initiated this. Let them think it was one of her friends that didn't want to be known. Then, he sent them a three hundred dollar donation, which he really couldn't afford, but he thought it would help them remain silent.

Three months later, nine months after Rocky died, he drove past her house again. He hadn't done that since he had called the rescue, but something told him to do it on that day and since it wasn't too far out of his way, he did.

As he was coming near the house, he saw her in the back yard, running around with a boxer puppy that didn't look anything like Rocky, but was absolutely adorable. Her hair was clean and shining and if she wasn't completely back to her old self, she had some of that lightness in her step again. She was wearing a light green, gauzy blouse with snow white Keds, and looked beautiful. She was both breaking and soothing his heart at the same time. It took everything he had to drive past her house, knowing it would be the last time he ever did. He didn't have to watch out for her anymore. She had gotten over Rocky, as best she could, and she had moved on from him. She had re-found the happiness she deserved and there was no room for him in that fragile place.

* * *

"Is he asleep?" Seth was asking.

Roman twisted around to look at him. Dean had laid down in the seat, his eyes shut. He couldn't stand having Seth look at him right now, he couldn't stand having _anyone_ look at him right now. "I think so," Roman said. "His eyes are shut. Poor guy is probably pretty drained right now. I know I would be, if I just told that story to my friends."

"Do you believe he _did_ that?" Seth asked, trying to keep his voice soft so he wouldn't wake Dean.

"I know," Roman said. "I don't know if I could have done it. Shot the dog to put him out of his misery, cleaned up the house, and then lied _that_ convincingly. No, change that. I couldn't have done it. I would have told the truth and tried my best to help her get over it."

"I might have tried something else," Seth admitted. "Say the dog was sick when I got there, that he was just lying on the floor looking ill and I rushed him to a vet or something, but the vet couldn't save him. Or, say he escaped from the house and ran out in the road when I was coming in the house and a car hit him. Anything but what he did. I'm not sure if he's the stupidest guy in the world, or the most awesome."

_She would have seen right through those excuses,_ Dean thought. _Rocky_ never _ran out of the house, he was too afraid, that's why I knew he'd never have left the yard, even if I did leave the gate open all day. And if I said I'd found him dead and took him to the vet, she would have wanted to know the name of the vet. She would have wanted to know what killed her dog and to see Rocky's body. If she saw his body, she'd figure it out. I had to destroy the body enough so she'd never see that gaping hole in his throat. I had to give her a cause of death that she would never question. And Roman? You wouldn't have had to do it. With your luck, if it was the same situation, she would have called you early enough that you would have made it there before the dog ate the chicken bones. That type of crap doesn't happen to Roman Reigns. It doesn't even happen to Seth Rollins. It happens to Dean Ambrose._

He rolled over on his side, his back facing the front seat so he didn't have to deal with Roman peering over every few minutes to make sure he was asleep. Very softly, knowing that the noise of the engine would cover the sound, he sang:

_You see us together_   
_Chasing the moonlight_   
_My Cinnamon girl._

**The End**


End file.
